


sweet dreams (are made of this)

by campfireashes (aaron_burr_sir)



Category: Grey’s Anatomy
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I just want them to be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 01:56:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14250606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aaron_burr_sir/pseuds/campfireashes
Summary: She feels whole, like there’s no one else in the whole damn world. It’s only them, and that’s what matters.





	sweet dreams (are made of this)

“Long day?”

Amelia feels such joy at hearing Owen’s voice as soon as she walks through the door of their home. Owen knows Amelia, can tell just by the look on her face when she’s tense. He knows it isn’t drastic, though, because she’s talking his ears off the moment she hangs her coat up. 

“Today started out so well! You bought me coffee—which was really sweet of you, by the way, I forgot to thank you earlier—and it was just the way I like it. And then a patient came into the ER with a huge brain tumor—like, really, really huge. It was so freakin’ awesome. But of course it was a kid. Twelve years old, and Karev was on my ass because he didn’t want me to operate. He thinks it’s inoperable, but he’s an idiot, you know? She was so small, I wanted to hug her and just cut that big, beautiful tumor out of her—“

Amelia was so caught up in her spiel that she had barely noticed Owen migrating from the couch, sneaking up behind her and snaking his arms around her waist. His warmth was calming, relaxing...it almost made her want to shut up. Almost.

“So of course Karev has to be a little bitch and pull the ‘this is my patient, it’s my call’ on me and I watched him tell the family they couldn’t get the damn tumor out. And they cried. They cried so hard, O, I swear to God I would’ve punched Karev in the face right there! I could’ve taken it out, but I guess he still isn’t over the fact that I’m not half of the surgeon Derek was…”

Amelia is cut off by Owen’s hands, as they clearly have their own ideas. His fingers are trailing up her sides, gently, suggestively. Amelia turns her head to Owen, eyebrows raised as if to question him.

“What? I’ve missed my wife all day, is it wrong to want to hold her?” Amelia chuckles. She’s well aware of Owen’s ulterior motives, but Owen isn’t one to let up easily. “Come on, Ames, you need to relax.” 

“Really? Since when have you known me to relax? We should have a dance party or something,” Amelia half-jokes, shimmying her shoulders and snapping her fingers. 

Owen’s response borders on pleading. “Let me give you a massage, at least?” Amelia is moved by the offer. She is sore, after all, she’s been on her feet all day. They transition to the couch, Owen laying horizontally with Amelia wedged in between his legs, her back against his chest. Owen grabs a stray hairtie from the end table, tying up Amelia’s hair before he begins working on her shoulders. Before he can even lay a hand on her, he can sense that she’s about to continue her story. “And no talking, Mia. Let me take care of you,” he adds, sealing his statement with a butterfly kiss on her shoulder. She lets out a small sound of protest, but relaxes her body against his nonetheless. His hands work swiftly but firmly, notably the hands of a surgeon. Amelia closes her eyes, focusing on the way his fingers gently press against her skin, feeling away her troubles. She feels as if she could quite literally melt into him, and God, how she wants to. She vaguely remembers a time in which Meredith wouldn’t shut up about how blessed she felt to be with Derek and the kids. At the time, Amelia didn’t get it. She didn’t understand how someone could just be so satisfied with that, with only the love for someone else. Now she gets it. This, this right here, Owen? Owen is her blessing. She feels whole, like there’s no one else in the whole damn world. It’s only them, and that’s what matters.

“Ames?” Owen whispers, bringing Amelia back from her state of bliss. She smiles, letting Owen know that she heard him. For once in her life, she doesn’t want to talk. She wants to feel. She makes a small noise, reaching up for Owen’s hands. He stops his hands in their tracks, interlocking his fingers with hers. Her hands are tiny, delicate, hands meant for her. When someone was as passionate, as vibrant, as pumped-up as Amelia, some part of her needed to be soft. That part was her hands. Owen could go on for hours about how much he adored her hands—he did, once, and Amelia pretended he was boring her to death the entire time. In all honesty, it was cute. Owen didn’t have much of a way with words, but his honeysweet voice made up for his lack of vocabulary. Amelia fondly remembers the sex that came after his hand-poetry. She used those delicate hands of hers in a way only Owen would know she could. She chuckles to herself at the thought. As enticing as sex sounded, she was content to lie there with Owen, feel his warmth around her. She never wanted to move. She would trade anything and everything to stay here with him. God, she was turning into Meredith. 

“Ames,” Owen repeats, one of his hands moving ever so slightly to cup her cheek. Amelia hums in response, resting her chin on his chest so she could look directly at him. “I adore you.” Amelia feels her cheeks heat up, and she buries her face into the crook of his neck. She’s always so casual. This pure love, pure adoration, always strikes her out of her comfort zone.

“Yeah?” She replies, gasping as she’s suddenly lifted off of the couch, her feet planted firmly on the ground. “What the hell are you doing, O?” She asks with a grin. Owen presses his lips together in a thin smile, beginning to hum a tune that Amelia swears she’s heard somewhere. 

“You said you wanted a dance party, right?”


End file.
